


Pyrexia

by SageMasterofSass



Category: Original Work
Genre: A Cut Through the World, Fluff, Illness, Injury, Kinda, M/M, Scene Rewrite, not my OCs, pls lord let me have written these characters well, rp group
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-03 00:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMasterofSass/pseuds/SageMasterofSass
Summary: Sometimes, help doesn't have to be asked for.





	Pyrexia

**Author's Note:**

> look all im saying is if u don't clean ur wounds prior to putting ointment on them that ointment ain't gonna do shit

Breathing carefully through clenched teeth, Kaylen slowly, arduously begins the process of unwrapping his wound. The arrow had pierced deep and true, but the hot stroke of pain as it embedded in his flesh was nothing compared to the later removal of the serrated arrowhead. However, both pale next to the ache of a healing wound, because now there’s no adrenaline or pain killers in his system.

With a grunt he tosses the blood soaked bandages away from his bed. There’s sweat beading on his brow, and he wipes at it absently.

He should probably clean the wound first, but Kaylen’s vision is starting to blur and he feels physically ill from the pain of open air hitting all that abused flesh. The thought of trying to drag a wet rag across his leg makes him want to puke. Instead, with shaking fingers he grabs the healing salve he’d been given and sets about trying to apply it with the least amount of pressure as possible. But the moment the cool paste touches his leg, he’s hit with a spark of pain so brilliant it lights up the backs of his eyelids.

“Fuck!” he gasps, the word loud enough to echo off the stone walls of the room. His next few curses are quieter and ground out between clenched teeth as he rubs slow, concentric circles into the wound. Were he not so accustomed to actual flames, he’d describe the pain as burning, akin to the crackling and popping of a fire allowed to consume too much. Each flicker and fresh ember has him gritting his teeth tighter and tighter, the fingers of his left hand clenched uselessly in the bedding. With his head turned and eyes squinted in pain, he thinks he can barely see flames seeping out of the wound, their source his very bones. They’re lapping at his fingers and the along jagged edges of the injury, and he swears he can smell the scent of burning flesh, ever familiar to him.

A sudden voice knocks him out of the trance and he blinks, confused. The flames are gone, their light replaced by the dim glow of his candle. His breath is too heavy and there’s blood dripping down his thigh, pooling on the floor. He turns and stares uncomprehendingly at the figure towering in his doorway, barely registering the hot, slick feel of blood and salve against his fingers.

The figure paces closer, hovering menacingly over Kaylen. Belatedly he tries to stretch his hand over his wound, to cover it’s presence with his palm, but the figure just tsks loudly. Broad fingers clasp his wrist and push his hand away.

“Why didn’t you ask for help, you little shit?” the figure says, and the voice is familiar. So familiar. It takes that scared, handsome face leaning in close to Kaylen for him to finally place it. Samuel.

“Hello? Are you even in there?” Samuel is saying. His features are set in a scowl, a little furrow appearing right between his eyebrows.

Kaylen jerks away as Samuel reaches up to feel his forehead, more out of instinct than anything else. “What the hell are you doing?” he tries to ask, but the words come out slow and muffled even to his own ears. Those long fingers brush against skin that’s overheated and damp with sweat, so cool in comparison that Kaylen almost wants to lean into them.

Sameul gives a low whistle. “Wow. You are burning up. Probably let the damn thing get infected, didn’t you? Fucking idiot.”

“Not-” Kaylen starts, but then figures whatever he was about to say isn’t all that important. His eyes are too heavy so he closes them, barely able to feel how he’s swaying where he’s sitting. Strange that he’s comfortable enough around Samuel to let his guard down like this. Strange. Peculiar. Even weirder when a few moments later he feels gentle touches against his leg, but doesn’t protest beyond a sharp intake of breath. He should definitely be fighting this right now, but there’s no flight or fight instinct, no sense of danger. Only large, calloused hands cleaning his wound.

He drifts in the sharp sparks of pain, fire dancing behind his closed eyes. Distantly he thinks he might be able to hear Samuel saying something, low and even, that familiar voice fading into a lilting melody. Kaylen hums along. His pain is too great to try and sing, but he knows the lyrics well.

A different kind of touch rouses him, this one to his shoulder. Samuel is trying to knock him back down into the bed, and Kaylen resits, scowling, until Samuel huffs and rolls his eyes.

“You need to go to sleep, asshole. Lay down.”

“You’re the asshole,” Kaylen manages, but he does as he’s told and tries to curl up amongst the bedding. If he glances down he can see the clean white of fresh bandages, and the burning ache in his thigh feels more muffled than usual.

“Hey.” The bed dips when Samuel perches on the edge of it, and Kaylen blinks up at him. “Don’t get used to this, all right? And learn to ask for some fucking help.”

Kaylen can feel the way his lips twist, a little too sulky to be a real snarl. “Didn’t ask for your help,” he manages.

Samuel snorts loudly. “Yeah, and now you’ve got a fever and there’s blood all over the floor, so obviously that worked out great for you. Give me your hand before you ruin the sheets.”

It’s odd, Kaylen thinks. He didn’t know Samuel was capable of this kind of mother-hen behaviour. But his touch is undeniably gentle as he cleans blood and salve from Kaylen’s fingers, and then again when he brushes Kaylen’s hair back from his forehead to put another, clean, wet rag there. It’s blissfully cool and Kaylen closes his eyes to better feel the sensation. He thinks maybe tomorrow he'll be pissed about all of this, or at the very least embarrassed. But for right now he sinks into the uncomfortable mattress and lets himself float. 

He’s only distantly aware of the candle being blown out and barely hears the sound of his door opening. Samuel is speaking, something soft and muffled to Kaylen’s ears, but does it even matter what he’s saying?

“Don’t want your help,” Kaylen insists with closed eyes, though he’s not sure the words actually make it out of his mouth. Regardless, he hears a small laugh, and then the door is closing and he falls asleep before he can hear the echo of those heavy footfalls fade away. 

**Author's Note:**

> hhhh did i characterize them okay??


End file.
